


thaw me out

by riahk



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Getting to Know Each Other, Mild Sexual Content, Sexual Tension, Slow Burn, The Princess Bride References
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-25
Updated: 2020-09-25
Packaged: 2021-03-07 20:14:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,743
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26643583
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/riahk/pseuds/riahk
Summary: Dorothea Arnault has been living in quaint ski town Garreg Mach for ten years now, and she's really made it her home. But the local lifestyle is disrupted when Garreg Mach is granted a bid for the Winter Olympics, flooding the slopes with tourists and Olympic hopefuls.One such disruption is snowboarding stuntman and famed winter filmmaker Sylvain Gautier. Sparks fly and Dorothea quickly loses her patience with Sylvain's devil-may-care attitude, and his family's more sinister impact on her community.But when an innocent get-together and a surprise snowstorm conspire to trap them, alone, in Sylvain's lavish winter cabin, Dorothea is force to re-examine her initial judgements of him - and to confront her budding feelings.-Written for the Dorovain Weekend Day 1 Prompt 'Snowed-In'!
Relationships: Dorothea Arnault/Sylvain Jose Gautier
Kudos: 10
Collections: DoroVain Weekend 2020





	thaw me out

**Author's Note:**

> My Three Houses brainworms were alive and well when I was in Tahoe last December, so of course I crafted an entire modern AU wherein Garreg Mach is a ski town prepping for the Olympics. It has been living in my head ever since, waiting for just the right moment to debut. This was written for the Dorovain Weekend Day 1 prompt ‘Snowed-In’. Enjoy!
> 
> \--
> 
> There is also a read-along playlist to go with this story!  
> YT Music: https://music.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLzsd_Sb5yiG4q7PJLvYquvAQeBE6Lusb_  
> Spotify: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/7u6y0gzcTgnVnz5ozoJ4n2?si=gbxKlk1bS0mI-V2UnYHAKw

-

MIDNIGHT

-

An icy wind cut into the nylon of her jacket, sneaking around the edge of the hood and pelting her face with sharp snowflakes. Dorothea huffed and took another step forward, the biting chill only slightly dulled by the alcohol coursing warmly through her veins. A porch light clicked on somewhere, barely improving visibility in the snowy midnight haze.

“Can you see it?” a slurred voice called from behind her. An annoyed shudder ran down her spine.

“I thought I told you to stay inside,” she called back, turning to see a familiar flash of red hair peeking out from a turquoise coat.

“Buddy system!” Sylvain said, nearly stumbling forward. She couldn’t see the dumb smile on his face, but she could definitely hear it. And she certainly heard the soft thump that Sylvain made when he fell sideways into a fresh snowbank. “I’m okay,” he whined, his voice drowned out by a particularly strong gust.

Dorothea sighed, shuffling carefully over to the slick patch she’d smartly avoided earlier and wading into the powder. “Here,” she said, reaching out a gloved hand and noticing that Sylvain’s were bare. He gripped her forearm with more force than expected; and before Dorothea could heave him to his feet she instead felt herself yanked in a downward trajectory. The curse on her lips was stopped short by the taste of snow on her tongue and a jolt of cool pain coursing through her temple.

“For goddess’ sake, Sylvain,” she groaned, feeling the last of her patience drain. The snow had at least cushioned her fall, and Sylvain had managed to catch the edge of her torso with his other arm. He nudged her to a seat, resting one wrist on her shoulder and laughing. Frigid fingers brushed against her cheek, but the rest of him radiated warmth. Somehow.

She leaned forward, feeling her head spin and her heart threaten to drop into her stomach. A million thoughts sped through her mind, as persistent and puzzling as the man grinning wildly next to her. The least of which being: how had she ended up in this situation, exactly?

-

SATURDAY, 5PM; SEVEN HOURS EARLIER

-

Dorothea shut her car door with a pleased thud, admiring the clear sky and fading daylight as she leaned against the side of the vehicle. December was nearing its halfway point, and Garreg Mach was due for a big snowstorm to really get some good slope coverage, but for today she was glad to hang onto the last glowing embers of pleasant late-fall weather. She made her way to the trunk and swung it open, lifting up the grocery bag of goodies she’d brought for the occasion.

As she made her way up the long driveway she spotted two other cars: Ingrid’s old but reliable Honda CR-V (complete with a faded maroon paint job that was peeling at the edges), and a sleek navy-blue Porsche Cayenne that she didn’t recognize. She was well aware of who it belonged to, though.

The pathway was surrounded by a dense forest of evergreens that obscured her destination, and Dorothea braced for the view she’d envisioned based on what Ingrid had described to her. She was well aware that this neighborhood consisted exclusively of custom-built cabins with construction budgets going well into the tens of millions. This one in particular was completed only that past summer, and she’d heard the whispers about it - and its current occupant - all over town. It was hard to imagine that she was going to actually set foot in it.

A structure washed in muted vermillion peeked through the trees, wooden walls interspersed with panels of stacked stone brick. Tall windows stretched along the sides of the front-facing room, opening onto a raised terrace. The way the house was positioned, nestled into the woods, made it look smaller initially; but as she approached and wound around to the front walkway, she could see the walls stretch further beyond the open front room, and a whole second story overlooking the yard. This was a common pattern Dorothea had noticed in wealthy homes, and she always wondered why so much effort was put into making oneself look less well-off.

She marched up a set of covered concrete steps lined by small lanterns, simultaneously impressed and exasperated by the excess. “Absolutely ridiculous,” she muttered to herself as she rang the doorbell. Fitting for a Gautier.

Voices on the other side of the door grew louder as the front door swung open, and Dorothea was happy to see Ingrid on the other side. “You made it!” she cheered, stepping aside and beckoning her guest inside, shivering in her thin turtleneck. “It’s really getting chilly, isn’t it?”

“My favorite time of year,” a deeper voice chimed in from further into the house. Dorothea tensed instinctively as soft footsteps padded halfway down the foyer staircase, her eyes following Sylvain Gautier as he leaned casually against the railing. In a white cable-knit sweater, grey athleisure lounge pants and colorful geometric-patterned socks, he looked the very picture of a mountain millionaire. “Hey, Dorothea,” he said coolly, taking a sip from the beer bottle in his hands.

“So good to see you, Ingrid,” she said to her friend first, before turning her gaze back to the man on the steps. “Sylvain,” she greeted, working at the laces of her boots while Ingrid watched the two of them hesitantly.

They led her up into the main house, stepping into the large living room that connected to an equally large kitchen. Dorothea peered out the same wide windows she’d seen from the outside, catching a sweeping view of Garreg Mach valley and the village side of the St. Seiros slopes. If she squinted, she could even see her (former) and Ingrid’s (current) workplace, The Keyhole, positioned two blocks from the main resort gondola. Sylvain plopped down on a massive L-shaped couch adorned with one too many throw pillows, while Ingrid eyed the bag in Dorothea’s hands.

“Oh yeah, I brought some treats for us all to enjoy,” she said with a wink, swinging it like a pendulum before placing it on the dining table. Ingrid was visibly resisting rifling through its contents. “So where’s the rest of the party?” she asked, admiring a massive tapestry that hung down from the vaulted ceiling.

Ingrid bit her lip. “Felix is running late at the store,” she began, her lilting tone making Dorothea uneasy. “And Dimitri’s just finished up on the slopes, but his car is still in the shop, so…” Her gaze flicked briefly to the couch. “I’m about to go pick him up now, actually.”

Dorothea nodded, realization dawning on her face. “Oh,” she said, looking across the room at Sylvain. He seemed oblivious to their conversation, but she was still polite enough to not say anything more. Ingrid looked at her apologetically.

She leaned in close, whispering: “I won’t be long, alright? Just… he’s not as bad as you think. I really mean it-”

“What are you two scheming about over there?” Sylvain called from the living room. Ingrid pinched the bridge of her nose.

“Girl stuff!”

“Ooh, sexy,” he fired back. Dorothea looked at Ingrid in calm disbelief.

“Look, I’ve seen you flirt with much more aggravating men before,” Ingrid said. “You can both be mature about this.” Before Dorothea could give a snarky reply, Ingrid made a beeline for the stairs, announcing her exit. “I’m picking up Dimitri! Be back soon!”

Dorothea stood dumbly by the table, and Sylvain remained on the couch. They both pointed their attention to the foyer, listening to the jingle of keys and swishing of fabric as Ingrid gathered herself. The front door clicked open and shut, and a heavy silence fell across the house. Sylvain turned back to face his guest, who was staring pensively at the table.

“You want a beer?” he asked, rising from his seat and crossing the room.

“Sure,” she said with a shrug, just as he passed her and swung open the fridge. There was the satisfying crackle of the cap popping. A refreshingly cold bottle, matching the one in his own hands, slipped into hers. Dorothea finally looked at him, taking a long swig and praying that a drink or two might loosen her up. She imagined Sylvain was hoping the same thing, so there was one thing they had in common.

Certainly she’d put up with worse in her life, but Sylvain Jose Gautier was a completely different animal. And the two of them hadn’t exactly gotten off on the right foot.

-

THURSDAY, 1:30PM; SIXTEEN DAYS EARLIER

-

There was always at least one customer at The Keyhole, even during the mid-afternoon lull between lunch and the lifts closing. Dorothea gave a wave to the elderly couple nestled into one of the booths as she stepped toward the bar, shrugging off her coat as she sat herself down and leaned her elbows against the counter excitedly. The kitchen door swung open and Ingrid scurried through, her short blonde hair held back by a thick blue headband.

“Oh, hey, Dorothea,” she said casually, her gaze flitting between her friend and the clock mounted on the wall. “You’re early,” she observed. “Want anything to drink?”

Dorothea shrugged. “I’m alright,” she decided. Ingrid crossed her arms, prompting her to chew her lip guiltily. “Uh, maybe a water,” she corrected, her voice rising hesitantly.

The other woman grabbed a glass and a nozzle, placing the drink neatly on a paper coaster. “You know, if Seteth were on shift, he’d insist you actually buy something,” she said, her tone just shy of scolding. Dorothea resisted the urge to comment on how many visitors they’d been getting with the beginning of the season; surely their purchases could cover her sitting casually at the bar for ten minutes during off-peak hours. But she understood how strict Seteth could be, and how much that strictness tended to rub off on Ingrid.

"I see we’ve increased prices again,” Dorothea observed, scanning the chalk menu mounted on the wall. “Is it wishful thinking to hope for increased wages for entertainment? Might encourage me to shell out for a cocktail next time.”

“You’ll have to take that up with the boss,” Ingrid said, reflexively looking at the small stage by the front windows where, years ago, Dorothea had made her singing debut. She’d still been a full-time waitress back then, and with the help of Manuela she’d now made enough of a name for herself to finally leave that gig behind and focus fully on her musical career. All her shows were still local, but with the multitude of visitors Garreg Mach received, there was rarely a dull moment.

“My coveted Saturday night timeslot gets more popular by the day,” Dorothea teased. “I’m sure I can convince him to shell out a bit extra for such an in-demand performer.”

The front door swung open with a pleasant jingle, and the two former co-workers turned to see a flustered Leonie Pinelli hurrying through. “There’s quite the crowd gathering out there,” she muttered, nodding to Ingrid as she stepped behind the counter. “Looks like there’s a stage and a DJ table set up by the gondola entrance? Anyway, it’s drawing in a lot of people.”

Ingrid’s eyes widened. “Oh goodness. That’s today,” she said, patting her pockets for her phone. “We might need to make a pit-stop before heading to the theater,” she added to Dorothea before disappearing into the back room to change.

Dorothea raised an eyebrow, gathering her things. “Consider my interest piqued.”

They stepped out into the brisk afternoon air, Dorothea barely managing to keep up with Ingrid’s nervous speed-walking. “Spill the beans, Ingrid. Is this about a boy - ooh, or a girl - that you fancy?”

Her friend’s disgusted frown decisively ruled out that option. “Ugh, absolutely not. Just a childhood friend I haven’t seen in a while, who I promised I would attend this event for.” They rounded the street corner to the square where, each morning from November until April, thousands of mountain-goers gathered to ascend St. Seiros’ peaks.

A cacophony of cheers echoed off the cobblestone, mixing with the synthesized beats pouring out of a massive sound setup. The expanding crowd was converging around a large stage placed in front of a tall LED screen that had taken over most of the square, blocking out the main gondola entrance. Its sides were plastered with logos for ski and ride brands.

“That’s quite the publicity stunt,” Dorothea said, stopping at the edge of the gathering to take it all in. It wasn’t a rare sight, necessarily - plenty of outdoor recreation companies came to downtown Garreg Mach for promotions - but it was certainly one of the bigger events she’d seen.

“It hasn’t even started yet,” Ingrid muttered, beckoning Dorothea to follow her into the crowd. As they sidled past several excited spectators, an energetic voice boomed over the speakers.

“Hey, Garreg Mach! Welcome to our much-anticipated meet-and-greet for this weekend’s Halfpipe Showcase! I’m Caspar von Bergliez, and this is my co-host, Hilda Valentine Goneril.” Dorothea spotted two figures waving from the platform, dressed in neon blue and pink snowsuits.

“We’re so excited to have you all join us this afternoon,” the petite woman next to Caspar said, her voice as bubbly and sweet as her hair. “And so are our snowboarders!” she yelled, raising her arm to the sky dramatically. "Let's give a warm welcome to our first rider… make some noise for Petra Macneary!"

The cheers grew louder as a young woman stepped up to the stage, her wine-colored hair tied back into a high ponytail and her piercing gaze accentuated by a sickle-shaped tattoo hugging the underside of her right eye. Clips of what was presumably Petra flashed across the screen behind them, meticulously edited to show off her most impressive tricks on the halfpipe. Caspar took over again: “Petra hails from Brigid and is spending her season here in Garreg Mach preparing for the X Games later this season,” he explained.

“First Edelgard and Dimitri roll into town for their Olympic trial training, and now this?” Dorothea said with a bewildered smile as Caspar and Hilda began to make conversation with their first guest. “Garreg Mach is really on the up-and-up.”

“That’s what happens when you’re chosen to host the world’s largest winter sports competition,” Ingrid said with a shrug. “Suddenly all eyes are on you.”

Petra had stepped aside, and a young man dressed in gold approached the center of the stage, his bright green eyes bewitching the audience as Hilda spoke excitedly into her microphone. “Next up is Claude von Riegan, a relative newcomer on the competitive scene. Supposedly he’s more of a skier, but he’s been picking up snowboarding at a rapid pace and hopes to sweep everyone off their feet in the Olympic trials!”

“Is that your friend?” Dorothea asked Ingrid. “He’s pretty cute,” she added, noting the way Hilda’s pitch elevated when she spoke to him.

“No,” Ingrid said, arms crossed and shoulders tense. “I’ll tell you, alright?”

The anticipation was killing her. Ingrid barely talked about her childhood friends, or much about her life before moving to Garreg Mach; Dorothea had only just recently met Dimitri and Felix when they’d arrived at the beginning of November. And there didn’t seem to be anything particularly embarrassing about them, so Ingrid’s reluctance was puzzling, to say the least.

Claude gave the crowd one last wave as he walked off the stage, a shot of him landing a laid-out backflip gracing the screen as he exited. “And now, last but not least… He may not be big on competition, but any aspiring rider has probably seen this snowboarder-slash-director’s winter films. Whether performing his own stunts with a GoPro or closely following his current muse, this guy knows how to make magic happen on the screen,” Caspar said.

Hilda further built up the suspense. “Do we have any fellow Faerghus riders in our audience this afternoon?” The cheers swelled, and Dorothea shot an inquisitive look at Ingrid. The look on her friend’s face said it all - this was the guy. “Give it up for Sylvain Gautier, everybody!”

The crowd erupted into shrill excitement, startling Dorothea and only forcing Ingrid’s shoulders further toward her ears. “Gautier… why does that name sound familiar?” she muttered to herself as she focused her attention on the figure strolling casually up to Caspar and Hilda. Dressed in a standout orange and teal color-block windbreaker, he flashed a vibrant smile as he walked, working the audience even better than Claude had. “Are you sure you don’t like this guy, Ingrid? I wouldn’t blame you,” Dorothea said. The crowd certainly seemed to like him, at least.

“Please don’t be fooled by him, Dorothea,” Ingrid pleaded. “He’s absolutely aggravating.”

“Hm, he definitely looks like the carefree charmer type,” Dorothea observed, really taking a look at Ingrid. She wouldn’t be this embarrassed if she didn’t care. “But he’s your friend,” she said, tenderly, amused by the way Ingrid’s cheeks flushed.

“Yes. Unfortunately.”

And now the gang’s all here, Dorothea thought. Things were certainly getting interesting.

Hilda restrained herself more as she steered the conversation with Sylvain. “So, Mister Gautier… your weekly stunt videos have garnered quite the dedicated following,” she began, motioning to the bouncy front row. “But Faerghus has always been your home base. What brings you to Garreg Mach all of a sudden?”

Sylvain leaned down into the microphone. “You all saw Petra and Claude earlier, right? A lot of talent has been flocking to Garreg Mach lately. It only makes sense to follow the best with my camera,” he explained. Then his eyes scanned the sea of people, and Dorothea thought she locked eyes with him for a split-second. “It also helps that some of my good friends are currently hanging around the neighborhood,” he added.

“Oh no,” Ingrid whispered.

“I think one of them is even here today. Some of you might know her from The Keyhole around the corner!” Sylvain continued excitedly. Hilda and Caspar looked outwards dramatically as the crowd murmured. “Give ‘em a wave, Ingrid!”

“Noooooooooo,” Ingrid hissed under her breath, shielding her face with her palm. Dorothea gave her an encouraging nudge, and Ingrid tentatively raised a hand. Sylvain nodded happily as the crowd looked back and forth between the stage and one very embarrassed woman.

Caspar had a grin on his face, but Hilda appeared to have had enough of this distraction. “Well, I’m certainly looking forward to seeing what you can do this weekend,” she said, drawing Sylvain’s attention back to her.

“And I’m looking forward to getting friendly with the folks here at Garreg Mach,” Sylvain replied, waggling an eyebrow. “If you know what I mean,” he said, prompting a round of playful oohs and aahs from the crowd. Dorothea lifted her fingers to her lips, growing more and more intrigued by the minute.

“He certainly loves the attention,” she said, watching as Hilda hastily directed him off the stage before any more saucy statements were made. Dorothea didn’t need to look at Ingrid to know there was an exasperated scowl on her face.

The rest of the event was filled with sharp quips between the two hosts and a load of sponsor mentions, ending on one last reminder for the event they were promoting before surrendering to the same electronic tunes that had kicked off their presentation. As the music continued and the crowd thinned out, Ingrid oriented herself towards their destination. “We should get going.”

“Aren’t you going to introduce me?” Dorothea prompted, motioning to the man quickly approaching them. Sylvain practically tackled Ingrid with a tight hug.

“You made it, Griddle!” he exclaimed as they parted, his voice booming and articulate like he was still on stage.

“I really don’t see why I needed to,” Ingrid replied casually. “All you did was play yourself up and, somehow, come on to every woman watching.”

Sylvain let out an exaggerated sigh. “All PR is valuable, Ingrid. And thanks for being such a good sport.” He caught Dorothea’s gaze, his eyes glimmering with a mix of curiosity and confidence. Plus a little splash of hunger. She’d spent enough time in the spotlight to understand that look. In a different context it might have annoyed her, but she happened to be in a good mood.

Ingrid read the situation before either of them could speak up. “Dorothea, this is Sylvain, one of my oldest friends,” she said quickly. “Sylvain, this is Dorothea. She used to work at The Keyhole with me, but she quit last year to devote more time to singing and community theater.”

“I still manage to spend a good portion of my time at the bar, though,” Dorothea chimed in. “Especially now that the slopes are open.”

“Maybe we can drop by now?” Sylvain suggested. “Have a couple beers? I’m dying to try those cheese fries you keep talking about, ‘Grid,” he said.

“We actually need to get going,” Ingrid said, not sounding quite as upset about it as she could have. “Dorothea is one of the directors on Garreg Mach Theater’s upcoming production of ‘The Princess Bride’, and she roped me into choreographing the fight scenes,” she explained, her ears turning pink at the tips. Dorothea remembered how long she’d pestered Ingrid to get involved in that. It had helped that Annette passionately campaigned with her to make it happen.

Sylvain appeared disappointed but also fascinated by this development. “Now that’s something I’ll need to hear more about,” he said, just as Ingrid placed a hand on Dorothea’s arm to physically guide her away from the conversation. “Let’s all meet up later, then!” he called after them.

Dorothea tried her best to mentally prepare for the task ahead as they walked off, a small corner of her mind still trying to figure out where she’d heard his name before.

-

STILL THURSDAY, 7:45PM

-

Acoustics at The Keyhole were impressive, to say the least; even filled to the brim with patrons, Dorothea still found it easy to carry out pleasant conversation. Which was good, because somehow all her friends - both old and new - were here tonight, mingling around the bar in their winter sweaters and sipping on craft brews. In a town like Garreg Mach, the approaching winter season was accompanied by many changes beyond just the weather; whether it be new jobs, events in preparation for the holidays or the new wave of winter tourism, everything was in a state of flux. There was much for her to catch up on.

She was listening excitedly to an already tipsy Manuela recall her latest trip to Enbarr when she spotted Felix strolling through the front door, looking absolutely tiny next to the two hulking men following behind him. He and Dimitri quickly found Ingrid, but Sylvain chose instead to approach Dorothea. Or so she thought for a quick moment, before realizing she was positioned right next to the bar.

“Fancy meeting you here,” he said, waving to get the bartender’s attention. He sounded different from earlier, more subdued, and he’d shed the bright windbreaker from that afternoon in favor of a sleek black peacoat. “How was the stage combat? Did Ingrid restrain herself?”

Dorothea smiled mischievously. “I’ve no idea what you could possibly mean by that,” she said, imagining there was a story to unearth from his insinuation. “I always encourage Ingrid to put her all into her work, especially when she so clearly loves it.”

“Methinks she loves a good fight a bit too much,” Sylvain said. “Just a warning to watch out for, next time she’s provoked.”

“I probably only need to worry about that when you’re around,” Dorothea teased, watching as a round of four beers was placed in front of Sylvain. He balanced them all in his hands with a delicate precision, prompting her to follow him through the crowd with a tilt of his head. The subject of their conversation appeared to be engaged in a passionate debate with Felix and Dimitri when they arrived, ceasing briefly as Sylvain distributed glasses.

“To the Faerghus Four, back together,” he cheered excitedly, raising his drink. His three friends quickly resumed their discussion, and Sylvain turned to her. “But enough about those weirdos. I’d love to hear more about you.”

She raised an eyebrow, calmly assessing his play. Dorothea was no stranger to men flirting with her, even - or perhaps especially - so soon after meeting her. So she couldn’t blame Sylvain for trying; unlike most of the locals, he had no idea that she was notoriously hard to get. Or maybe he absolutely understood, and had decided to try anyway. Regardless, her guard went up reflexively, caution getting the best of her.

“There’s not much to know,” she said, holding his gaze. “I was a part-time bartender, part-time singer. Now I’m a full-time performer.” She took a sip of her drink, placed it down elegantly. “Oh, and I like to ski every now and then. It would be weird if I didn’t,” she said. Her usual line, in situations like this, and it was a pleasure to say it. Dorothea made sure not to take her eyes off him the entire time, following the lines of his cheekbones and the set of his jaw. He wasn’t bad to look at.

His lips curved into a smile just as her gaze flitted across them. “Did you grow up here, then?”

Prying her for more details. Not a particularly novel move. “Enbarr, actually. I moved here about ten years ago. My mother grew up in Garreg Mach,” she said. Another go-to answer.

“You must be very close, then,” he said.

“Was,” Dorothea stated. “She’s dead, now.”

That one wasn’t. She didn’t know why she said it.

Sylvain’s eyes widened with guilt, looking down and nodding. “Sorry to hear that,” he muttered, tapping his knuckles on the table nervously.

Dorothea shook her head, still surprised by her own words. “No, it’s alright. It was a long time ago. She left me an apartment,” she said. It was a cozy place in an old complex, but it was still nice to have. “Not that it would have been different if she left me nothing,” she quickly added, taking a sip of her drink to stop herself from saying more. Normally when a conversation took a bad turn, it wasn’t her fault. It felt like stage fright, when she used to have that. Which was a long time ago.

“Losing a family member is always tough,” Sylvain said solemnly. Dorothea looked at him, resisting the urge to press him on that, but unfortunately she couldn’t hide the curiosity in her eyes. “I mean, my brother isn’t dead by the normal definition, but to my father he certainly is,” he added, the joking tone in his voice only barely masking the darkness of his words. “There, now we’ve both steered the conversation into a pit. We’re even.”

“On the contrary, I think this is escalating quite quickly,” Dorothea quipped back.

“And not in a fun way!” Sylvain said cheerily, bouncing his palm lightly off the table. She gave him a wry smile. “This is the part where you ask ‘what’s the fun way?’”

She raised an eyebrow. “More like ‘we can always explore that option.’” Her eyes locked with his, daring him. It was so puzzling, meeting Sylvain within the context of his best friends. He was so different from all three of them; definitely not what she’d expected when Ingrid talked about home. Though it did make sense why he could get under Ingrid's skin so well.

Dorothea briefly glanced at the aforementioned friends, who were still engrossed in their own conversation. Would following her impulse come back to bite her? Most certainly. But that didn’t necessarily stop her from doing it.

She downed the rest of her drink, leaning forward so her lips were at Sylvain’s ear. “When I excuse myself, wait two minutes and then come find me,” she whispered, returning to her seat and shrugging like nothing had happened. Sylvain watched her incredulously, rendered speechless by the suggestion.

“I’m going to use the restroom,” she said, rising from her seat and turning around swiftly. Facing away from Sylvain, her mouth twisted into a confused smirk, her brain finally catching up with her actions. She made her way through the back hallway, took a turn around the corner and leaned against the wall, reading the bulletin board across the hall to distract herself.

There were a few flyers for events that had already passed. “Seteth’s been getting sloppy since I left,” she said, instinctively unpinning the stale postings. A couple band performances, a pancake fundraiser… a rare notice for a town hall meeting that she remembered attending. It had been a very eventful meeting, about some real estate company that wanted to build a new luxury condominium complex in town; a project that would displace many residents, including her. It had been fiercely debated but ultimately struck down, though Dorothea had the feeling that wasn’t the end of the fight.

As she moved to toss the handful of papers, something on the town hall flyer caught her eye. She re-read the event blurb, carefully.

“The main topic to be discussed is the potential approval of a new housing and revitalization project headed by Faerghus-based realty investor Gautier Enterprises.”

And suddenly she remembered why Sylvain sounded familiar.

-

SATURDAY AGAIN, 5:15PM

-

They’d both migrated to the couch, beers resting on lacquered coasters. Dorothea held the remote loosely in her hands, browsing silently through the massive selection of streaming platforms Sylvain had on his equally massive flat-screen television. He was half working away at something on his laptop, half watching her.

“I get the feeling you really don’t like me,” Sylvain finally said.

Dorothea remained fixated on the screen. “How do you figure, Sherlock?”

Sylvain sighed, leaning back into the cushions. “You haven’t said a word to me for the last five minutes, for one,” he began. “Plus I like to answer rhetorical questions, and that seems to go over as well with you as it does with Felix.”

She pressed her lips into a thin line, stifling a chuckle. Ingrid had just left, and she was calculating the length of time it would take her to drive to the village, pick up Dimitri, and then get back here. Twenty more minutes, tops. That was all she’d have to survive before she could ignore Sylvain for the rest of the evening.

He sure wasn’t making it easy at the moment, throwing more words into the awkward silence. “Whatever it is - and I’m pretty sure I already know what it is - I’d love to apologize. But that only works if you actually listen to me, Dorothea,” he said. “When Ingrid told me you were coming, I was really hoping I’d have an opportunity to make things right, here.”

“I’m not really in the mood, Sylvain,” she said, finally turning to look at him. “Let’s just pass the time silently until everybody else gets here, alright? I think we can do that.” She tried to ignore the fact that there was genuine hurt in his eyes.

It melted away a moment later as he motioned to the TV. "At least put something on," he insisted, prompting Dorothea to toss the remote in his direction. He switched the input to cable, flipping through several channels before settling on a half-completed broadcast of an action blockbuster that had premiered a few summers ago - the kind that you can tune into at any point and still enjoy. She rose from the couch, pacing over to the window, where night had officially fallen. A few stars flickered, the sky partially obscured by clouds that must have just rolled in. The wind was picking up, rustling briskly through the pines. Watching them sent an involuntary shiver down her spine.

"Maybe we’re getting that winter storm a bit earlier than expected,” she mumbled, turning back to the couch and observing Sylvain from a safe distance. She’d seen him on stage and on the slopes, where he was all performance and show; she’d seen him with his friends, where he was more casual but still stole the spotlight with his off-kilter brand of humor. And now, seeing him with his eyes glazed over, pretending to pay attention to the TV, Dorothea felt like she was peeling back another layer. Unexpectedly, she wondered what he looked like while he slept, before frantically dismissing the thought.

“Hey,” Sylvain said, and she realized he was looking in her direction. Before she could deduce whether he’d caught her staring, he’d risen from his seat and was walking towards the window. “It’s snowing,” he remarked, and Dorothea turned to see little flecks of white - shaded grey in the night air - falling softly to the ground, a small layer of flakes already accumulating on the terrace. It was a gentle pace for the moment, but she could already see it beginning to accelerate. “I’d better call Ingrid and see if she’s alright on the road,” he said.

Before he could take another step Dorothea heard the familiar jingle of her own phone, still wedged into the back of her jeans pocket. “Speaking of,” she said, showing him the caller ID before picking up. “Hey, Ingrid.”

There was a noticeable distortion on the other end, and the muffled sound of wind. “Hey, Dorothea,” Ingrid greeted. “Is it snowing up there too?”

“It just got started over here, yea,” Dorothea confirmed, peeking out the window again to see the sky quickly filling up with white. “Straight out of nowhere.”

“Ugh, tell me about it,” Ingrid said. “Dimitri was just telling me how perfect the weather was on the mountain today, too.” Dorothea caught the rumbling of a deep voice in the background, but couldn’t make out the words. “Anyway, bad news. The wind knocked down a powerline and it’s blocking the road back,” she continued. “Plus, you know, the snow is really picking up and visibility is going to shit.”

Dorothea felt another cold realization creep up her back. “Do you have a safe place to go?” she asked, watching Sylvain nervously as he scrolled through something on his own phone with a frown.

“My place is nearby, so we’re headed there,” Ingrid replied. “I’m really sorry about this, Dorothea,” she added. It was certainly a sincere apology, but Dorothea had a feeling that Ingrid had some high, unrealistic expectations of her and Sylvain.

She kept her disappointment - quickly boiling into frustration - buckled down. “As long as you two are safe,” she said. “I’ll try to keep you updated if anything escalates.”

A quick goodbye later and Dorothea crossed the room, leaning her arms on the back of the couch. Sylvain looked up from his screen. “Felix just bailed,” he said, meeting her eyes cautiously.

Before they could say anymore, an alarm siren blared out from the forgotten television. Big block letters, familiar to anyone who’d grown up in a place with harsh winters, burned into the screen: ‘EMERGENCY ALERT SYSTEM: SEVERE WEATHER WARNING’. They stared at the message, letting the sound drown out their thoughts as the wind began howling louder against the glass.

“Alright then,” Dorothea said as the alert broadcast ended, switching back to the raucous sounds of a cinematic car chase. “Where do you keep the hard liquor?”

-

6:30PM

-

The upstairs hallway was seemingly never-ending. Dorothea peeked out of the third bedroom, scurrying along the long carpet that had been rolled out over the hardwood and stopping at the next door. With a giggle she turned the knob, stepping into another sparsely-furnished guest room. Complete with its own bathroom, just like all the others. “Who even needs all this space?” she asked herself as she spotted the bookshelf along one wall, kneeling down in front of the lowest level and browsing through the reading options. Combined with what she’d already seen, Sylvain could probably open a small library.

After helping herself to the whiskey Sylvain had procured from his well-stocked liquor cabinet, Dorothea had set off on her own exploration of the house. Her host had offered a guided tour that she promptly refused, descending the steps to the basement level and then working her way up. She’d already examined the downstairs steam room, admired the photography collections (most notably, there were no family albums displayed anywhere) and located a billiards room (complete with its own well-stocked mini-bar). Overall, she’d been impressed.

There was a creak of footsteps at the doorway. “There you are,” Sylvain said, peeking into the room. “Might I interest you in dinner?” he asked.

She sighed, rising from the floor with a handful of books she’d gathered. Considering the current situation, avoiding all communication wasn’t really an option any longer. “I could eat.”

They returned to the kitchen, where Sylvain already had a pile of ingredients sitting on the center island. Before she could say anything he directed her to a cutting board and placed a knife in her hands. “Think you can help out by chopping up some of these vegetables?” He was more telling than asking. Dorothea nodded, placing the knife down for a moment to pour herself a glass of wine.

Sylvain eyed her suspiciously as she took a sip. “Worried about me? I can handle myself,” she insisted, going to work on a zucchini.

“Go for it,” Sylvain said, filling a large pot with water and sliding it onto the stove before settling himself across from her, rapidly dicing an onion. Dorothea made slow, labored cuts, even with such a sharp knife, watching as he gracefully slid the fresh cubes into a bowl and moved on to the carrots.

He must have felt her eyes on him, because one glance at her half-chopped zucchini and he’d stepped around the corner. “May I?” he asked, placing a hand softly on her wrist. “Try gripping it more like this,” he said, repositioning her hold on the handle. “And move like so,” he continued, guiding her into a better chopping motion.

“Like this?” Dorothea asked, annoyed with how soft her voice sounded, how hesitant. But she’d succeeded well enough for Sylvain to give an approving nod and return to his own task. They continued silently, working through the rest of the produce until everything was prepared and portioned into bowls. The water had come to a boil and Sylvain tossed in a box of dried noodles, rifling through the lower cabinets for a frying pan.

Dorothea had returned to drinking. “You seem to enjoy cooking,” she said, leaning against the counter.

He shrugged as he stood up, cookware in hand. “I mean, I know how to do it, at least,” he said. “Could you grab some salt, pepper and cumin from the spice rack? Oh, coriander, too,” he requested, motioning to the rotating stand next to the fridge.

She grabbed the two shakers, trying to recall his full request. “Um… what were the last two?”

There was an extra beat that she attributed to surprise. "Cumin and coriander. You know what those are, right?”

“I think I’ve heard of them. Haven’t used them much,” Dorothea replied, picking the two bottles off the rack. She was surprised to see they were all alphabetized.

“Thanks,” Sylvain said. “You know, for someone who lives on their own, you don’t know your way around a kitchen too well.”

Dorothea shrugged. “I can make a sandwich. And operate a microwave,” she said. Then, with a sarcastic smile: “I’m also fantastic with break-and-bake cookies.”

A timer went off and Sylvain lifted the boiling pot of noodles off the coils and poured it down into the colander waiting in the sink, filling the room with steam. Dorothea took another sip, reaching the bottom of her drink. She instinctively reached a hand around the neck of the wine bottle, but was stopped by a hand on hers. “Shouldn’t you pace yourself?” Sylvain asked, appearing as if from nowhere.

She rolled her eyes, but took her hand off the bottle nonetheless. “You never seem to care much about pacing when you’re out flirting with girls, do you?”

Sylvain picked up the bottle, feeling its heft in his hands. “I’m not flirting with any girls right now,” he said.

“So you don’t deny it.”

He put the wine back down with a louder-than-average thud, walking up to her. “I wasn’t aware you paid so much attention to what I do,” he said, his voice low. He leaned in close, enough so that she could feel the heat coming off his body. It only lasted for a second before he backed away, his gaze shifting to the far window, where the snow was still coming down in piles. “Do what you want. I just don’t want you drunk to the point where you regret it.”

Dorothea looked between him and the wine. “I’m sorry,” she said, unwittingly.

“Oh? Are we in an apology-accepting mood now? Because I have one you might be interested in,” Sylvain said, turning back to the stove.

“Sylvain…” she said, growing guiltier by the second. But also annoyed at him, for making her feel guilty. Maybe. Everything was jumbled. She reached for the wine bottle on the counter. Sylvain flinched at the sound of the cork popping, but didn’t turn back around to stop her again. He didn’t say anything else until he was finished cooking.

-

8PM

-

Maybe it was the second glass of wine, or the excellent food, but the mood had livened up by the end of dinner. They’d seated themselves across from each other at the dining table, trying their best to maintain idle conversation. Dorothea savored her last bite, thinking that maybe Sylvain had a point and she should start putting more effort into her meals. She complimented the food profusely before offering to wash the dishes, marching straight from her chair to the sink before any objections could be made.

She was humming a cheery, improvised tune when Sylvain stepped in, holding a flat case in his hands. “I happened to find this in one of the spare rooms,” he said, flashing the cover of a DVD box at her. It was a copy of ‘The Princess Bride’. “Might be a fun watch. Assuming you aren’t already sick of the story from all the play directing.”

“Do you ever get sick of snowboarding after all the videos you direct?” she asked, putting the final dish in the drying rack.

“Fair point,” Sylvain said, smiling and stepping off to the sofa, Dorothea following not far behind. A movie was a good plan; there were no board games they could play with only two people, and dancing right after eating would be neither wise nor pleasant. Plus, a film would make it incredibly easy for them to avoid talking to each other without going insane.

She settled in against the cushions, grabbing a throw blanket draped across the seat while Sylvain set up the DVD player. He took a cautious approach and sat down several feet away from her, starting up the movie. “I can’t tell you how many times I’ve seen this,” Sylvain said.

“Probably as many times as Ingrid,” Dorothea said. “Well, maybe less now, since she’s had to give it quite a few watches in the past month.”

The film quality was showing its age on the flat screen. "Well, I was the one who got everybody into it," he recalled, smiling proudly. "I think this is the original copy we used to watch as kids, actually."

"I’m surprised you still have it. You don't strike me as the sentimental type," Dorothea said, remembering the complete lack of any personal photos in the house. Or the way all the furniture looked like a real estate agent had picked it out.

“Some things are worth remembering,” he replied, motioning to the screen as the film’s hero made his first appearance. “I always wanted to be Westley.”

“The dashing rogue? I’m surprised no one fought you over that one.”

“Nah, everybody else thought his romantic streak was too mushy,” Sylvain explained with a roll of his eyes. “Ingrid and Dimitri fought over Inigo Montoya,” he added, and Dorothea could hear him physically resisting the master swordsman’s infamous quote. They would witness it on screen soon enough.

“That makes sense, I suppose,” she said. “And Felix?”

“Didn’t care. Thought all the characters were cheesy and ridiculous, but we could tell he was enjoying himself.”

“So… the grandson.”

“Bingo.”

She could definitely imagine that. She was still having trouble picturing Sylvain dressed all in black and sailing the seas as an infamous pirate, let alone being so dedicated to one woman. “Sounds like your group was missing a Buttercup,” she mused. “I always admired her tenacity. And her sharp tongue.”

Sylvain sighed. “I’m sure you did,” he said, his focus shifting back to the movie. Dorothea hopped to her feet, an idea suddenly sparking in her head as she ran to the kitchen, returning with two more beers.

"Maybe we can spice things up with a drinking game?" she suggested, plopping back down on the sofa and handing Sylvain a bottle. "Every time Westley says 'as you wish', Vizzini says 'inconceivable', or when anyone says 'true love'," she said. "Or when they cut to the grandson-"

"How about you tell me the rules as we go?" Sylvain interrupted, taking an unwarranted swig.

Dorothea quieted herself and leaned back calmly, noting that the room was beginning to spin a little. And that she was probably making a fool of herself right now. Still, she considered it a step up from being sober and having to actually confront what she was feeling right now. Sylvain looked comfortable in his seat, but there was still a hesitance in his eyes, a desire to say his piece that she was doing her best to extinguish.

She was beginning to feel that she was only prolonging the inevitable. Or, considering the fuzzy drunk smile on her face, speeding it along.

The movie absorbed her attention, melting away the house and the storm and the whole confusing situation. Each thrilling scene bled into the next, the pithy dialogue echoing in her ears - all lines that she knew by heart now, but never got tired of hearing. And on occasion the words were undercut by a low voice on her left; Sylvain’s intermittent laughs and comments reminded her that she wasn’t alone. Reluctantly, she realized she enjoyed having his company.

By the time the final scene played out, she couldn’t distinguish the tender warmth of the fairytale ending from the pleasant buzz that had flushed her cheeks a light pink. And as the credits rolled, she found herself inevitably drifting off to sleep.

-

10:30PM

-

When she awoke, it appeared much later than it actually was. Her eyelids blinked open, slowly, and she became aware of the throw pillow beneath her ear, the blanket draped around her. And the light ache in her temples as her body moved through the slow process of sobering up. Dorothea let out a light moan as she pushed herself to a seat, the sudden rush of blood leaving her light-headed. The living room was mostly dark; the dim light from the chandelier hovering over the dining table cast long shadows all across the floor. It was silent, too, enough so that a sudden gust of wind startled her and drew her attention to the continued snowfall outside.

She exhaled deeply, fluttering her lips and rolling back her shoulders, groggily assessing the state of the room. Not that there was much more to assess. Her body was craving water, and it practically moved on its own to drag her to the kitchen, one hand still clutching the blanket to her shoulders as she poured herself a glass and chugged it. Then poured herself another, which she sipped more slowly.

Inside the house, at least, the quiet was persistent; even when she closed her eyes and really listened, she couldn’t pick up any trace of noise or movement. Dorothea found herself humming softly to keep her mind occupied. She wouldn’t classify herself as someone who frightened easily, but she wasn’t used to being in such a large and unfamiliar space on her own. It made her uneasy.

She recalled seeing a grand piano somewhere on this floor, and stepped softly through the hall beyond the kitchen into another room overlooking the forest. The piano stood like a hulking shadow at the far edge; she tiptoed carefully across the rug until she found a table lamp and pulled the switch on, flooding the room in a soft orange light. “You look well taken care of,” she said as she pulled back the dust cover and the ivory keys shined brightly back at her, like a wide smile in the dark.

There was no sheet music, but Dorothea didn’t need any; she seated herself on the cushioned bench, the blanket falling down to the floor as she placed her hands daintily on the keys. She played softly at first, the clear, crisp tones prompting a lip-biting smile. Once she’d warmed up her fingers, she began playing in earnest. And after she got comfortable with the melody, she parted her lips to sing.

_Come up to meet you, tell you I’m sorry_  
_You don’t know how lovely you are_

The acoustics were fantastic, which was good because it hid the fact that her vocal cords weren’t fully warmed up and, in fact, a little fried from all the drinking she’d done. Luckily for her she had no audience at the moment. It was nice to have a moment to sing for herself.

_I had to find you, tell you I need you_  
_Tell you I set you apart_

Before she could finish the first verse she was interrupted by the sound of a muffled thud from upstairs. Her shoulders scrunched up to her ears as she jumped in her seat, looking toward the stairwell on the opposite side of the room. There was another, lighter thud, followed by silence. Dorothea waited thirty seconds before closing the piano abruptly and speed-walking to the hall, flipping the first light switch she saw and flooding the entire room with light. She groaned at the sudden illumination, but moved onward to the stairway, turning on another switch to reveal the way up.

“Sylvain?” she called, gripping the railing and waiting to hear a response. The upstairs was big, she remembered, and there’d been no indication of which room was his. It was possible she hadn’t seen it yet.

She called his name again when she didn’t get a response, her heart beginning to pound louder as a million thoughts ran through her head. What if he’d injured himself? No matter how annoyed she was by the guy, it didn’t mean she wanted anything bad to happen to him. Not like this, anyway.

The wind howled ominously, and Dorothea suddenly felt like she’d stumbled into a horror film. A gust swept across the roof, shaking the walls, and she could hear the sound of snow pelting against glass. She watched the ceiling nervously when the lights began to flicker, returning to normal after a short moment.

“Sylvain! Where are you?” she yelled, her voice crackling along with the creak of the floorboards. This was officially not fun anymore. “Dammit,” she muttered to herself, pausing to catch her breath. She’d still felt a bit groggy at the piano, but she was certainly awake now.

“Dorothea?” The familiar voice was muffled, seemingly coming from far off. “Dorothea, is that you?”

She smiled involuntarily. “I don’t see anybody else stuck in this damn house with you!” There was the faint sound of footsteps and her gaze moved to the hallway, watching the point where it curved around to the left. “What on earth was that noise?”

“Ah, you heard that,” Sylvain said. “It was nothing! Just dropped something,” he added.

“Right,” she breathed, walking forward again. “Well I’m glad you’re not hurt or any-”

There was another loud scraping sound as the wind picked up again, stronger than anything else she’d heard so far that evening. Dorothea let out an involuntary squeal as the lights surged and then dimmed again, before crackling out fully this time. A weak electric buzz washed over the house as it sank into pitch blackness. “Shit,” she growled, freezing in her tracks, her arms instinctively flailing in front of her.

Sylvain did not sound as put out by the situation. “I suppose that was bound to happen,” he said calmly. The shuffle of footsteps grew louder, and Dorothea was positive he was in the hall now. “Don’t worry, the generator should kick in any minute now,” he explained, his voice growing louder and closer. “Where are you?”

“By the stairs,” she called, her eyes beginning to adjust to the dark. A faint sliver of moonlight managed to shine through one of the raised windows along the upper wall, and she could vaguely make out a silhouette rounding the corner. “Watch your step,” she added, more quietly, surprised he was still on his way.

“Aw, are you worried about me?” His voice couldn’t be more than a few feet away.

“Absolutely not,” she replied, tilting her head as she struggled to find exactly where he was. A mechanical click and a distant whirring caught her attention. “And now it sounds like I won’t have to-”

She was interrupted for the third time that night as the lights suddenly turned back on, and the first thing she saw was Sylvain’s face mere inches from hers. He looked as surprised as she did; but while his instinct was to freeze, Dorothea released a piercing, diva-worthy shriek and let her hand fly, the palm meeting square with his cheek. Her unintentional slap resounded down the hall, drawing a pained yelp from her unfortunate target as he stumbled to the ground.

“Goddess, Thea,” he said, cradling his jaw tenderly. “You can really fucking hit.”

Dorothea stood dazed for a moment, eyes still fixed on the end of the hall before she tilted her chin down slowly. “Oh goddess,” she said, dropping to her knees and reaching a hand around the back of Sylvain’s neck, guiding him to face her. “I’m so sorry.”

He groaned, dropping his hand so she could run her own along the quickly reddening skin. His gaze dropped to the floor. “That makes two apologies from you now, tonight,” he said. She dropped her hands, leaning back on her heels with a concerned frown. "Maybe I can finally get mine in?" He cracked a weak smile as he lifted his eyes to meet hers again.

The way he looked at her was too gentle for her to bear. She wanted to look away, and so she did. But she also wanted to keep her eyes locked with his, the way she had that night in town. "I'll go get some ice for your face," she announced blankly, turning to rise to her feet.

A hand shot out to latch onto her wrist. "There's an ice pack in my room I can use," Sylvain said, his eyes burning into her. "Please, Dorothea."

The heat from his grip radiated up her arm, permeating through the rest of her. "Alright," she said. "We can talk about this. Tell me what you want me to know."

-

11PM

-

The master bedroom put all the others to shame; it was double the size, with a higher ceiling that gave it even more apparent volume. Even the massive frame of the king-sized bed looked small in comparison to the rest of the room. Dorothea peeked through the door to the en-suite bathroom, noticing a jacuzzi bathtub and immaculate white marble tile.

Sylvain had slumped into a leather armchair with an ice pack held to his face, his back turned to the glass sliding door that opened onto a balcony. There still wasn’t much to see beyond the dark night and falling snow. After a quick pace around the perimeter of the room, Dorothea took a seat on the edge of the ottoman, angled toward him.

“Were you… cleaning in here?” she asked, noticing a bottle of all-surface cleaning solution and a roll of paper towels on the floor next to a slightly displaced wooden table. A small basket of film equipment, likely moved from the table, sat next to the supplies.

“I was,” Sylvain replied slowly, as if he’d been accused of something far more embarrassing than tidying up his room. “And moving some furniture around, which probably explains the noise you heard. I’m still settling in,” he added, sweeping a hand across the stacked cardboard boxes behind him. Aside from that, Dorothea didn’t see anything in the room that warranted the effort he seemed to have put in.

“Uh-huh,” she said, her gaze settling back on him.

He sighed. “Alright, fine, I may have been stress cleaning,” he admitted.

She raised an eyebrow, the thought never having occurred to her. “Nothing wrong with staying on top of room organization. Defensive much?”

“Tends to happen when I get tipsy,” he said, picking up the bottle of whiskey sitting at his feet with his free hand. He’d insisted it was for the pain - not that Dorothea needed an explanation. He took a sip before offering it to her. She happily accepted it, figuring that renewing her buzz ought to be useful for the upcoming conversation.

Dorothea deposited the bottle onto the coffee table, resting her elbows on the tops of her thighs. "Well, you have my attention now," she said expectantly.

He peeled the ice pack away from his face with a wince, dropping it next to the whiskey. "Right. I suppose I should get to it," he said, leaning forward and meeting Dorothea's eyes. "I'm sorry for not being fully upfront about why I was in Garreg Mach. And I'm sorry for making you feel uncomfortable, or like I was using you for…" he hesitated. "For land development."

There was a moment of silence as the words settled over them. Dorothea fidgeted with the fabric of her blouse, repeating the apology over in her head. Was that really all she'd been upset about? Not that the whole situation wasn't driving her insane, or further compounding the already skyrocketing rents and increased influx of rich families suddenly looking to buy vacation properties. Ingrid was right: the whole world had its eyes on her hometown. It just didn't give a shit about the people who were already there, especially if those people couldn't afford to spend five dollars on a damn black coffee.

She began to think that perhaps it wasn't Sylvain who she was angry at.

"I'm also sorry that you've seen me be a complete ass to several women, even in the short time I've been here," he continued. "Including you."

Well, maybe she was a little bit mad at him specifically. It had certainly been difficult to ignore him when she spotted his stupid go-to grin at The Keyhole, flirting with whichever pretty girl happened to be closest. Locals were already beginning to talk.

But the man she'd spent this evening with was not the same philanderer she'd seen getting into trouble around town. Something was different, and Dorothea sorely wanted to know what.

"Is everything alright? You're being so quiet it's almost scary," Sylvain said.

There were so many thoughts running through her head that she didn't know where to start. Her mouth picked one at random. "To be clear," she began, "You had no idea that I lived in the complex your company is trying to tear down?"

He shook his head. "I wasn't going to bring it up, since I didn't want to make this about me, but no," he explained. "And it's my dad's company, not mine." His voice was firmer than usual. "I'm sure he has some idea in his head that having me here might uplift the Gautier name, but he also has a tendency to overvalue me."

Dorothea resisted pointing out that Sylvain had been named heir years ago; and that that meant something, even if he wasn't actively involved in company decisions yet. Instead she realized she didn't care so much about that particular point - her curiosity was piqued on a different front. "If you had nothing to do with that decision, why didn’t you say something? Tell me off?” She remembered how guilty he’d looked when she confronted him, the way he'd just accepted her indignation. Maybe, she thought, it hadn’t actually been guilt.

Sylvain gave her a cautious, knowing smile. “Attempt to argue with an angry drunk woman? That approach has never worked well for me.”

“Hm, fair point,” Dorothea conceded. “But still, why go to all these lengths to apologize? I’m sure you’ve done much worse to other women without it weighing half as much on your conscience.” She refrained from mentioning it was Ingrid who’d informed her of Sylvain’s most egregious tales of heartbreak.

“You’re not like the others,” Sylvain said, his gaze unfocused and pointed away from her, as if he were wrestling with some uncomfortable truth, trapped in his own head.

“Bullshit,” Dorothea snapped back, surprised but not necessarily upset by the harshness in her voice.

“I know how it sounds, but I’m serious,” he said, meeting her fierce eyes with his own. “You’re the complete opposite, in fact.” He bobbed his head from side to side, picking his words carefully. “Normally, when women hear my last name - who my family is - it makes them want me more. You learned who I was and decided you wanted nothing to do with me.”

She wasn’t sure what she’d been expecting, but it wasn’t that. “That felt refreshing, I bet.”

His expression was unreadable. “In a sense. But mostly it made me feel like shit.”

Dorothea let out an involuntary laugh, immediately feeling guilty about it. But her curiosity persisted. “Would you say you often find yourself in these kinds of no-win situations?”

To her relief, Sylvain found that funny too. “I suppose that’s what it is, isn’t it? Regardless of the outcome, no one is paying any attention to who I actually am.” He fixed her with another hard stare, and Dorothea shifted uneasily in her seat. Was she actually feeling bad for Sylvain Jose Gautier? This was not how she’d expected her evening would go.

He rose to his feet, stretching his arms above him and exhaling deeply as he dropped them abruptly to his sides, his shoulders pulling back. “I know that pitying look. Please don’t hit me with another apology, Dorothea.”

“Sylvain,” she said, prompting him to look at her again, his expression inquisitive. Stage fright was rearing its ugly head once more, and she felt her voice threatening to waver. She bit it back. “I’d be happy to pay attention to the real you, if you’d let me meet him.”

Her words hung agonizingly in the air, watching Sylvain as he took another deep breath, eyes on the ajar door. Silently he pivoted back to face her, placing a hand on her shoulder as he knelt down to her ear. “When I step out of the room, wait two minutes and then come find me.” The command was so quiet, coming out like a wisp in the wind that Dorothea almost thought she imagined it. Her eyes had instinctively closed, and when she opened them again Sylvain was already halfway across the room.

She padded quickly across the floor - not quite silently, but Sylvain showed no signs of noticing her. He was halfway out the door when she caught his arm, tugging him back inside and turning him around to face her, searching his eyes long enough to settle on her decision. “Fuck that,” she said, sliding a hand along his collarbone and around to the base of his neck, pulling him down as she popped onto her toes, meeting his lips halfway with her own.

He tasted like bourbon, mostly, with a hint of lime. Strong hands wrapped around her waist and steadied her hips as her heels descended slowly back to the ground, sparks flickering in all the places his fingers passed over. Sylvain's neck craned forward as he chased her mouth with a needy force, tongue sweeping along the backs of her teeth and beyond. When they parted for air Dorothea inhaled the scent of clean wool, her fingertips hooking into the tight lattices and braids of his sweater. "I was hoping you might say that," he breathed.

Adrenaline took over, rendering Dorothea speechless as she became fully enthralled in the man before her. With her hands still at his stomach she twisted her grip into the fabric of his sweater and drew his hips closer against hers, bracing his shoulder blades against the wall. Her hands slipped under his shirt, running across the firm muscle of his abdomen as she pushed the hem up, flashing him a smile. Sylvain picked up the slack and there was an agonizing moment of separation as he yanked his top layer over his head. Dorothea's hands, already sweeping over his chest and continuing their trajectory upward, quickly tangled into his hair as they kissed again, bodies now flush against each other.

The bright overhead lights dimmed as Sylvain moved down the slide switch at his left, his other palm pressing into the small of her back as he pushed off the wall, guiding her backward steps as though leading her through a waltz. Dorothea interlaced her fingers with his and leaned into their momentum to spin herself around, dragging him along behind her as she made her way to the bed.

It was not a long walk, but the impatience was evident in their rushed footsteps. And even more so in the way Sylvain jogged ahead of her, seating himself on the edge of the mattress as he caught hold of her waist and, immediately after, her lips. Dorothea put one knee up on the bed while she pressed her other leg into his groin, where a growing firmness sent a giggle bubbling up from her stomach. It manifested as a muffled tremor vibrating through their kiss, and was then cut short as Sylvain ran a hand along the top of her thigh, her breath hitching.

He scooted back as she continued pushing into him, eventually toppling over onto the carefully made sheets as Dorothea followed, trailing her lips along his neck and down his bare torso. Sylvain’s hands were restless. First his fingers dug into her curls and he inhaled her deeply; next they moved across the tilt of her ribcage, tracing the curve of her spine like he was trying to memorize the exact contours of her body. He squeezed her hips and her behind, stopping her descent and guiding her face back up to his. “You’re beautiful, Dorothea,” he said, his eyes meeting hers reverently.

Dorothea did not know what to say, still. He was gorgeous, too, with his toasty brown eyes that crinkled up at the bottom when he wore his crooked smile. Or his unruly hair spreading around his face like fire, perfectly framing his face and bringing out the pink in his cheeks. It was easy to acknowledge in her head, but when she tried to speak these observations aloud they caught in her throat, aching with hesitance. “I… I know,” she finally said, kicking herself as the words left. Why was she so bad at returning compliments?

If her expression betrayed any of the uncertainty swimming in her head, Sylvain did not show any signs of noticing. “Of course you do,” he replied with a chuckle, popping onto his elbows as he pressed a quick kiss to her mouth. As he pulled away she grabbed his chin with the intention of coaxing another longer kiss out of him; but with only one arm supporting her she stumbled, falling to the side as Sylvain attempted to catch her. Instead he followed her as momentum rolled her onto her back, reversing their positions as he straddled her hips and leaned back on his heels, giving her a full view of his body.

She ran her hands along his skin again, coming to terms with how much she’d been craving this. He lowered into her touch, teasing her bottom lip with his teeth and planting lopsided kisses along her cheek, nibbling the edges of her ear and lingering at her neck, sucking at the soft, sensitive spot where it met with the back of her jaw. Her touch was feather-soft as she made her way down to the sharp jut of his hip bones, both of them inhaling sharply as she held onto the waistband of his sweatpants.

Sylvain’s lower half pressed into hers, but he lifted his head up to meet her gaze again, a pleased smile forming as he doubtlessly saw the excitement spreading across her face. Still, her hands remained still, as if waiting for permission to go deeper. “Do you… want to go further than this?” he asked.

“Yes,” she responded without missing a beat. “Do you…?”

He nodded, and that was enough prompting for her. She pulled the drawstring of his pants loose, stripping him down to his boxers just as he began to work at the button of her jeans that she was surprised she was still wearing. The denim slid down and off her legs with a quick kick, and when Sylvain grinded himself against her she let out an elated gasp.

It was a perfect moment, but it unfortunately did not last as Sylvain’s eyes widened in realization. “Wait,” he said, pushing away and eliciting a disappointed sigh from Dorothea. “You wouldn’t happen to have any condoms, would you?”

She rose to a seat as he moved off the bed, pacing in front of her. “This wasn’t really on my radar this evening. So that’s a no, unfortunately,” she replied, feeling the color drain from her face. Not that she wasn’t enjoying herself so far - mostly she was just surprised by their current dilemma. “How, exactly, do you not have condoms?” she asked.

He interlaced his hands behind his head, exhaling. “I had some. I just ran out and - oh!” Dorothea watched curiously as he moved to the closet, going through the shelves. “That's right, I just bought some yesterday. Where did I put them…”

Another sigh escaped her lips as she moved off the bed, clutching her discarded jeans to her chest and following him across the room. Sylvain’s face was scrunched up in a tense focus, but he emerged from the closet doorway empty-handed. “Okay, good news and bad news,” he began. “The good news is that I definitely have a new box.”

Dorothea raised an eyebrow, closing the distance between them but keeping her arms crossed against her chest. “And the bad news?” she prompted, craning her neck up expectantly.

“I, uh, left it in the back of my car,” he said.

Their heads turned in unison to the glass door, where a flurry of white still threatened to swallow the entire house. Dorothea chewed her lip furiously, a shiver passing through her at the mere thought of going out there. But she’d already gone against her better judgment several times tonight, so what was one more case?

“Alright, I’m going to need your keys,” she said, slipping back into her pants and walking out the door. Sylvain followed her through the winding hallway and back down the staircase.

“I’ll just go with you,” he insisted, wobbling as he tried to keep up with her quick pace. She dismissed his offer with a wave of her hand.

They reached the foyer quickly, and Dorothea found a set of keys with a silver Porsche logo hanging on a hook next to the coat rack. She slipped them into her jacket pocket before sliding her arms into the sleeves, grabbing her boots from where they’d been neatly stacked by the front door.

Sylvain knelt beside her as she tightened the laces, placing an arm around her shoulder. “Seriously, Thea,” he pleaded, and she tried not to be distracted by how her nickname sounded coming from his lips. “It’s dangerous out there, you shouldn’t go alone."

"I know how to deal with snow," she said, shrugging off his arm as she rose to her feet, pulling on her gloves last. Sylvain grabbed her hand as she made for the door, pulling her into a kiss as her hand turned the knob. A cold wind blew in against their lips for a split second, but Sylvain pushed the door shut with a click as he pressed her against the wood, hot breath chasing away the momentary chill.

She pulled away with a gentle smile, a gloved hand cupping his cheek. Her voice came out softer than she'd expected. "I'm going to go now, alright? I won't be long."

He relented, backing away. "Alright. See you in a bit," he said. Dorothea swung the door open again, taking a deep breath as she stepped out into the storm.

-

SUNDAY, 12:03AM

-

Yes, it had certainly been a bizarre string of events that led her to this point.

"'See you in a bit' my ass," she groaned, Sylvain's laughter still echoing through the trees as she shifted onto her knees.

"I mean, it technically has been a bit," he said, showing no signs of moving out of the snowbank. He looked calm, happy even, in spite of the fact that icy wind was cutting into his skin and his fingers were already turning red and tender at the tips.

Dorothea side-eyed him, moving a strand of snow-pelted hair behind her ear. "Feel free to stay here, but I'm getting up," she said, jutting a knee upward as she prepared to lift herself out of the snow.

Sylvain clicked his tongue, extending his arm out and dangling something shiny in her face. "You might need these," he said, his voice smooth and teasing. She quickly identified the keys she'd slipped into her pocket mere minutes before.

"Wait, when did you-" she gritted her teeth and patted her pockets down, confirming that this was the very same set she'd grabbed earlier. Sylvain's grin was wide and unmoving and pleased as punch - Dorothea almost wanted to let him off for being so cute. Almost. "Fine, you got me," she conceded, swiping the keys from his hand and rising fully to her feet, wobbling a little. Sylvain proved capable of getting up on his own, and she felt his hand on the small of her back.

"You're so stubborn," he said, the fabric of their jackets making a swishing sound as he moved past her. "But it's what I like about you."

She caught up with him, curving around the bend and catching sight of his car. The storm had entered a rare lull. "I'm still trying to figure out what exactly it is I like about you," she said, immediately wondering if she was being too mean. All evening she'd been slowly softening, only to freeze up again so quickly the minute she'd stepped outside. She felt a pang of disappointment in her stomach. Disappointment for herself. Always only for herself.

But Sylvain was seemingly oblivious to her sudden onset of moodiness. "The night is young," he said, slipping a cool hand into hers. "I'm sure it'll come to you soon."

They reached the trunk of his car and she clicked the unlock button quietly. Sylvain swung the door open, searching through the array of emergency supplies, pushing aside a set of jumper cables before procuring the goal of their expedition. He hummed victoriously, holding the box up proudly before his frozen hands promptly lost their grip and it plummeted down to the ground. "Mission accomplished! Let's get the hell back inside," he exclaimed as Dorothea scooped it into her hands.

"Here," she said, slipping off one of her gloves and handing it to him before continuing onward. "So that at least one of your hands doesn't fall off."

"Thanks, babe," he said, struggling to get it on - partially because his fingers were too numb, and partially because it was a tight fit on him. Dorothea noticed the trouble he was having and turned back around, helping him loosen the strap and get his hand in. He chuckled, pulling her into another unexpected embrace.

She hummed into his chest, feeling more comfortable with the warm feeling blooming from what could only be her heart. But the wind was picking up again, and Sylvain's arms turned her back in the direction of the house, their respective ungloved hands intertwining with each other as they marched together through the snow.

"Sweet warmth," Sylvain sighed in relief as he stepped back into the foyer and Dorothea closed the door softly behind them. She shook off any remaining bits of snow clinging to her jacket before stripping off all her outer layers. Her jeans were soaked through in several places, so she took those off with a shrug as well. Sylvain raised an eyebrow before following suit, shedding his sweater as well as his pants. He stood proudly in nothing but his boxers, motioning her to follow him as he jogged up the stairs into the living room.

Dorothea trudged slowly, catching her breath at the top as sudden fatigue overtook her. It must have shown on her face, because Sylvain was watching her with concern. "It's been a crazy night. You must be exhausted," he said, taking her hands in his.

"I'm fine," she said, even as she released a yawn. "A bit sleepy, I suppose," she conceded, leaning against the back of the sofa.

"Let's go to bed, then," Sylvain said. He moved quickly, and before she could protest he'd swept her up into his arms; she let out a surprised yelp as she lifted off the ground.

"Sylvain! I can walk!" she yelled, or at least tried to; her voice came out weak.

"Dorothea!" he teased. "Let someone be nice to you for once!"

She sighed, letting her head knock back against his arm and her cheek press against his chest. Her eyes closed slowly, soothed by the rocking motion of him carrying her. The stairs creaked as they ascended, and before she knew it they were back in Sylvain's room. He deposited her on the bed, pulling the blankets back as he crawled in next to her. She slid beneath the sheets, knocking her legs against his. There was a short adjustment period before they both settled onto their sides, facing each other.

"Are we still going to…" she trailed off, focusing on his eyes.

"Have sex? I think we're both a bit too tired for that," Sylvain replied, tracing a finger along her cheek, massaging her ear lightly. Dorothea let out a pleased, involuntary moan, blushing at the outburst.

"But- what did we go out into a damn blizzard for, then?" she whined, and Sylvain began to run his fingers soothingly through her hair.

"There's always tomorrow," he said softly. "If you're still up for it, of course. I'm kinda hoping that you are," he added with a smile. Dorothea rolled onto her back with a sigh, staring up at the ceiling. The lights were on, albeit still dimmed to the low setting from earlier. She was so tired that she didn't really care. Or maybe just too comfortable.

The tips of his fingers brushed against her hip. "Hey," he cooed. "Come here."

Dorothea rolled back to look at him for a moment, before flipping to the opposite side and letting Sylvain wrap his arms around her, a happy sigh shuddering through her body as his breath puffed against her neck. "Good night, Dorothea," he whispered, gently kissing the top of her shoulder.

She squeezed his hand gently, eyes fluttering closed. "Good night, Sylvain."

-

SUNDAY, 10:09AM

-

For the second time in twelve hours, Dorothea was alone when she roused from slumber. The overhead lights had been turned off, replaced by grey-white filtered sun that passed through two windows on the slanted ceiling. After her solitude, the first thing she noticed was the massive pile of snow stacked against the glass door: a temporary, but very substantial wall of powder that left only a sliver of clearance at the top of the doorway. "Impressive," she mumbled to herself, plopping herself back down onto the horde of pillows gathered beneath her head. Had there been that many last night?

It didn't occur to her to be upset that Sylvain was nowhere to be found. This was his house, and unless he had superhuman shoveling skills, he was just as stuck in here as she was. But as she spread her arms out and relished all the free space available on the bed, her fingers caught something that was very much not soft fabric or plush cushioning. Though it was, technically, a sheet.

The satisfying crinkle of paper echoed through the quiet room as she picked it up and held it up above her head, squinting to read it in her current state of half-consciousness.

_"D,_

_looks like I woke up before you! in case, for some reason, you have a pang of anxiety that I have abandoned you in my amazing and well-equipped (but also oversized and over-extravagant) mansion… fear not. I am merely cooking breakfast downstairs. probably. unless you managed to go into hibernation._

_barring any extenuating circumstances, please join me. there will be plenty to go around!_

_yours,_  
_S_

_P.S. you have the cutest sleeping face. hopefully you can catch a glimpse of mine sometime? ;)"_

His handwriting was surprisingly neat, she thought, trying to ignore the blush brightening across her cheeks. Breakfast. Hibernation. Cute sleeping face.

_Yours._

Dorothea draped her arms loosely across her face, shielding herself from the clarity that daytime gave her. There was the dull soreness of a hangover weighing on her body, but it was counteracted by a warm, soft elation pumping alongside that weight. The two conflicting sensations collided with each other and gave birth to one inescapable truth, which she realized with a low groan.

She had feelings for Sylvain. Romantic ones, that did not evaporate into thin air like the alcohol had. That did not diminish with the cleansing act of sleep. Not enough alcohol was consumed to erase much of her memory, but the thing she recalled most was the warmth of his lips on her skin, the sparks at her fingertips when they tangled into his hair. And the fact that she literally went out into a blizzard for a chance to fuck him - that one was stupid no matter how she sliced it.

A rumble in her stomach distracted her from the current crisis, and Dorothea pushed herself back to a seat, sliding out from the covers with a shiver. She was still wearing nothing on her bottom half save for underwear. Her eyes flew to the walk-in closet and she made a beeline for the doorway, praying that she would not find anything too weird in Sylvain's drawers.

Luckily for her, the only notable observation was just how meticulously folded and sorted all his clothes were. Which made it incredibly easy to find a pair of soft, mottled grey sweatpants that she slipped into easily, folding the waistband over for a slightly better fit. She was still swimming in it. With a shrug she also grabbed a crimson v-neck to replace her sweater from the previous night.

Music filled the entire downstairs speaker system as she carefully descended, catching the sound of clinking dishes amongst the soothing flow of indie guitar riffs. As she rounded the corner into the kitchen, the sweet smell of fresh cooking wafted over from the stove. Sylvain was washing dishes at the sink, still in nothing but his boxers. Because of course he was. He didn't seem to notice her approach, so enthralled was he in the simple task of tidying. Dorothea was already learning so much about him.

She stood by the center island and cleared her throat, words suddenly escaping her. Sylvain turned to the sound, a beaming smile on his face. "Hey, sleeping beauty. You made it," he said, putting the pan he was rinsing down and walking over. Dorothea swallowed, her voice apparently still not fully functional. Sylvain filled the pause easily. "And I see you raided my closet," he joked, stopping a few feet from her and leaning casually against the counter. His gaze was fixated on her shirt. "I could have sworn that was still in the laundry," he said.

"O-oh, is that what that basket was?" Dorothea asked, frustrated by the stutter but glad that she'd at least managed some words. Sylvain gave her a puzzled look but ultimately dropped the subject with a shrug, pacing back to the sink. While his back was turned, she pulled the fabric to her face and inhaled quietly. Of course she'd grabbed it from the hamper; she liked the way it smelled like him.

"Help yourself to food," he said, motioning to the array of heaping serving dishes on the bar.

"That's… a lot for two people," Dorothea said, grabbing a plate and scooping what seemed like a tiny fraction of scrambled eggs onto it.

"Old habit," Sylvain explained. "We'd spend a lot of our winters having sleepovers, and those sleepovers were often blessed by snow dumps." Dorothea doesn't have to ask who 'we' is. "On days when it was so bad we could hardly go outside, Ingrid and I would spend all morning cooking a huge meal to last throughout the day."

She hummed in understanding, eyeing the plate of bacon. "I don't think we're going to be stuck inside all day."

"We could."

Dorothea paused, a quick smile crossing her face. She let it pass, stepping around to the other side of the bar and setting her plate on the dining room table. Only after the soft click of ceramic against glass did she realize how silent it had gotten. Sylvain was waiting for her to speak.

Before she could respond, he seemed to run out of patience. "Hey, I know we were both a bit drunk last night. And that maybe you want to forget some of what happened, but-"

"I don't," she said, without having to think about it. "Some things are worth remembering." Her smile from earlier returned as she caught his gaze from across the counter, sliding herself into a seat. "Come on, let's eat."

She listened as Sylvain dried his hands and quickly fixed himself a large plate of food, chewing her eggs quietly as his footsteps approached. They stopped right next to her, and she dropped her fork momentarily to look up at his looming form leaning against the edge of the table. "Can I help y-"

Before Dorothea could finish Sylvain lowered his head to hers in a surprise kiss, holding her mouth captive with his teeth and tongue. Her hand instinctively cupped his face, guiding him closer. It was a different, more sober kiss than the previous night, but it was enjoyable nonetheless. As they parted, Sylvain's face hovered inches from hers for a short moment. "I know you took that shirt out of the laundry on purpose," he said with a grin. Once again she moved to speak, only to be distracted by a last quick peck on her cheek before Sylvain strolled to the other side of the table and sank into his chair.

They ate silently, flashing each other the occasional smile or knowing gaze. From the table she could see the aftermath of the storm just beyond the living room window; the trees, the mountains in the distance, all blanketed in snow. And when she reached for Sylvain's hand across the table, interlocking their fingers and squeezing, she experienced a different kind of aftermath. One that was about to make her ski season very interesting.

Maybe it was the ice and wind and biting cold that had brought them together; but right now, Dorothea felt like a part of her heart was now thawed and warmed in a way she hadn't expected. As winter loomed ahead, she had a little piece of spring with her.

And his name was Sylvain.

**Author's Note:**

> This is yet another story that I expected to be shorter, but then got away from me. I just really love writing sexual tension between these two. Thank you to all who took the time to read through this whole thing, shameless Princess Bride references and all.


End file.
